


Skipping A Beat

by gottawritethatdarkshit



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hand Jobs, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22131334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottawritethatdarkshit/pseuds/gottawritethatdarkshit
Summary: Heartman looks a little stressed, so you decide tolend a helping hand.Can also be found on Tumblr!
Relationships: Heartman (Death Stranding)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	Skipping A Beat

**Author's Note:**

> Writing smut at 3:35 in the morning can lead to magical things, huh?

The sight that greets you once you enter Heartman’s office is a welcome one. He's reclined back, relaxing atop the couch overlooking the lake --peaceful and calm, with his eyes lazily drifting shut. He's been working tirelessly on his research, day and night. Seeing to the UCA’s best interest every step of the way. Between that and scouring the Beach for his research, the man doesn't get enough rest, so seeing him take a moment to himself eases your worries somewhat. Despite your relationship being young and new, you are determined to have his back. You do what you can whenever he's conscious, but it somehow still doesn't feel like enough. With light and gentle steps you approach him, careful not to disturb the pleasantly quiet atmosphere. Heartman’s breathing has settled down, but the tension on his face refuses to subside. The stress of the job, you realise. 

Wouldn't it be nice to help him feel a little better? Well, there is  _ one _ way to let off some steam that neither of you would be opposed to. Now would be a really good time to play with him, seeing as he's distracted and seated in such a  _ favourable _ position. You sneak up to the couch and sprawl your legs out on either side of him. He starts, jolting upwards but you promptly push him back with a single hand on his chest. Almost entirely without resistance, Heartman moves with you. So very obedient. Just how you like him.

You roll your hips with a purpose, scooting up his lap until you're seated directly on his crotch.

"(Y/n)?" he questions, eyes flashing with confusion at first -- then understanding, and a hint of embarrassment. His mouth runs dry at your implications, struggling to swallow down the nervous feeling in his throat. You notice the way his eyes widen, and smile, dragging the hand on his chest up towards his cheek. Tender fingers brush against his jaw, coaxing a blissful sigh from his lips. 

His eyes lock on yours, questioning but dark with a desire you've come to recognise. "Don't move," you say. "Not a muscle."

_ "Yes, my dear." _ There they are: the words that give you absolute control. He knows the rules, so do you -- and now you play the game.

Heartman tenses under your touch, a feint shiver rolling over him as you begin to let your hands wander. Your deft fingers are feather-light in their pursuit, ghosting over his clothed torso with but the smallest of friction. It doesn’t take long for him to become putty in your hands. A content sigh escapes his lips and his eyes begin to drift shut. You can hear the tension in his voice. With each exhale, it lessens. Marvelling at the pink rising to his cheeks, you rock your hips -- a soft whimper sounding out into the quiet of his office. Oh, how you adore the little sounds he makes when he's having a good time. His arousal becomes more and more apparent with every graze of your fingers -- even more so when you decide to let them slip beneath his dress shirt and scratch his bare neck. 

Each graze of your nails yields a different reaction. It’s almost like a little game you’re playing: just how much can you make him yearn for you? You tease the skin, paying careful mind to Heartman's soft groans of pleasure and what they're telling you. His hardened cock pressing against your thigh tells you something as well: he's ready for more.

"Please..." he moans, prompting you to chuckle.

"Please what?"

"Please, I--" he pauses, cheeks flaring a bright red. My, what a pretty shade that is on you Heartman. "I want more." The words are difficult for him to say, but he says them with such precious longing and desire, you simply can't refuse such a sweet request. 

You lips brush against his for a fleeting moment -- Heatman rises from the seat to chase after you, eager for more, but you have other plans. A single finger lands against his wanting mouth -- guiding him back down with barely any pressure. He follows your lead like a good boy -- knowing what rewards lie in wait if he obeys your every command. All the while his eyes a gleaming, shining with adoration and devotion. There's nothing sweeter than watching him unravel beneath you, and right now you're adamant on making him feel on top of the world. 

"Just relax, love. I'll take it from here..." Your promising words followed by the sinful hands palming his arousal caused his ears to ring -- blood rushing to all the right places. A breathy sigh fans against your neck as you lean in, curling your tongue over the shell of his ear. His heart is beating faster, you can hear it hammer in his chest and for a moment you slow down, trying to see if he's alright. 

However, as soon as you scoot back, he protests, needy hips arching up into your own. "Don't stop..." Heartman breathes out, nails digging into the cushions below for support. 

A tender hand travels to his chest -- resting over his heart so you can feel its pounding rhythm beneath your fingertips. Knowing his limits was important: you don’t know if you’d every forgive yourself if you even ended up hurting him. You look at him -- and his glacial blue eyes stare back with equal parts determination, confidence, and a ravenous kind of craving. He's okay. This sets you at ease enough to continue. You turn your attention back to his groin, running a finger over the slight tent in his slacks. His cock twitches -- you can barely feel it stir beneath his breaches as he moans out. Heatman's eyes flutter as he throws his head back, dully pounding off the backrest. Such a sensitive man. You liked to take your time with him: he deserved your undivided attention. Nice and slow. 

His buttons were undone fairly easily -- it takes only a few seconds to free his arousal. Heartman's grip on the seat tightens as you palm his cock, slowly but deliberately moving up its length. You fingers curl around the shaft, brushing the sensitive skin with practiced strokes. Barely touching, your nails tease the throbbing vein that runs along its base. He seems to enjoy that in particular, because his voice twists into a ragged, needy whine as you do. You repeat your actions -- then drag your hand up, swirling your thumb across the head. Heartman's legs jolt as he bites back a moan, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. It's no use -- you know what you're doing. You'll drag those sweet sounds out of him, even if it takes the full 21 minutes. 

If you hadn't told him not to move, he would have taken his glasses off by now. They're fogged up and slick from his sweat -- but he knows better than to test the limits of your control. He's completely, willingly, at your mercy -- and you quite like the way he looks right now. Chest rising with heavy breathing, hair a mess and glasses smudged with sweat. 

Soft groans and moans tumble from his lips, loud and shameless, strung along by nigh incomprehensible words of praise. With each teasing jerk of your wrist, his hips roll up to meet the movement.

He's getting desperate, and you decide it's a  _ very _ good look on him. Heartman is always so put together and neat: watching him lose it to your touch is incredible. If his increased whining is anything to go by, you'd say he was getting close. Sweet prayers roll off his tongue as he chases after his much needed release -- he thrashes in his seat, bucking his hips up to meet your hand halfway. Your movements come to an abrupt halt as his cock begins to twitch in your palm: you pull away and watch Heartman slink down with a cramped groan. 

"Not yet," you warn, using a single finger to flick his blushing cockhead. It bobs a few times at your touch, his abdomen flexing on its own accord. With nothing but two fingers you begin to stroke him once again. As much as you'd like to, you won't tease him that much today. One ruined orgasm was enough for now -- but you wouldn't tell him that. No, you wanted to hear him beg for it. 

Sure enough -- you got your wish. 

Your palm curls around his cock, assuming an earnest quick pace. In a matter of seconds, Heartman is back to squirming beneath you --only this time, his moans are a tad more coherent.

_ "Please, please, please, please...!" _ With each syllable, he sounds more and more desperate. His abdomen flexes as he arches off the couch, into your hand. It won’t be long now. You don't slow down: instead, you allow your free hand to massage the base, fingers firmly slipping beneath his balls. This earns you guttural, deep groan you didn't know he was capable of. "Please, (Y/n) -- I need --" He struggles, gasping for air as his arousal begins to reach a peak. "Please, please...let me cum, please...!"

"Then cum," you state, the warm pad of your thumb brushing the sensitive ridge at the tip of his cock. You drag it down the underside, clasping your palm around him tightly as you go. 

That is all it takes. Heartman's legs tremble, slipping off the seat as he comes. Thick ropes of cum drip from his cock, down into your hand as you make sure to milk him of every last drop. He's got a hand over his eyes, glasses propped up on his knuckles. You can feel him shiver, cock convulsing furiously with each wave courses through his body. Because of your little stunt earlier, it's violent. You haven't seen him come this much in a while. When it's over and he's had a moment to catch his breath, you scoot up his lap --unbothered by the mess you've made. You take his glasses and put them aside, prying his hand away from his eyes so you can look at him. 

His cheeks are burning, but he looks relaxed. You hold his gaze, dragging your tongue across your fingers to lap up his juices. Such a  _ sweet _ man. Heartman gives you a look that lands somewhere between satisfied and playfully annoyed. An arm finds its way around your waist and pulls you on top of him. You can hear his heartbeat now. It’s steadily coming down from its rattled state --settling into a comfortable, relaxed canter within his chest. 

"I have a heart condition, you know that?" he jokes, pressing his lips into your hair as he mumbles the words. “You’re going to be the death of me.” 

“Promise you’ll come back to me after 3 minutes?”

“Always.”


End file.
